king alistair · dragon age · ferelden · grey warden · self-deprecating · tragic romance · elven love interest · burdened ruler · crooked grin · political intrigue
The sky above Skyhold tore open, a jagged wound pulsing sickly green against the grey clouds. Alistair stood by a narrow window, the wind rattling the stone as he watched the chaos below. Refugees huddled in the courtyards, their faces etched with the same fear he remembered from Ostagar. He folded his arms tightly, the weight of the crown and the years pressing down on him. Ten years had passed since he last saw her, yet Vaelith’s memory lingered like an old wound. He tried to focus on diplomacy, on Leliana’s presence, but the ghost of his choice haunted him.